


We Fear Not Our Mortality

by hatebeat



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Charles is a sadistic bastard, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatebeat/pseuds/hatebeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donny wants to find a way to remain in Pickles' life, no matter what the cost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Fear Not Our Mortality

**Author's Note:**

> Donny is an original character who originated from a story I wrote previously: [Shit Happens](http://archiveofourown.org/works/863770?view_full_work=true). His background and relationship to Pickles won't really be explained in this story, so you might want to read Shit Happens if you want to understand where he's coming from.

_"Welcome, all of you, to the initiation of the Klokateers. These following weeks will be the most difficult weeks of your lives. Some of you will be maimed, most of you killed. For those of you who survive, you will go on to attain the sacred branding of the gear. But until then, you're all, uh, worthless scum."_

Although Charles took a degree of pleasure from watching the blood bath that always ensued from the initiates' first trial, he was glad he wasn't responsible for cleaning up after it; the initiates' second trial immediately afterward was to personally dispose of the body of the peer whose life they had just ended. After all, death was an every day part of the workplace.

Perhaps it was his imagination, but this particular batch of potential Gears seemed a bit fiercer, more bloodthirsty than normal. Returning to his office, Charles attempted to will away the remnants of arousal from the scene that had just played out before his eyes.

"Seven-five-one, I want the identification numbers and background checks on the survivors sent to me no later than two pm," he said, dismissing his assistant at his office door. 

\---

He browsed the surviving initiates' profiles on his PDA over dinner, sorting the unacceptable candidates into a separate folder listing those who would be summoned as target practice for the Mordhaus snipers between bites. A name at the bottom of the list was flagged, and it sounded familiar even before he clicked it, but he couldn't quite place it.

Charles read through the man's history. It was immediately apparent why his name had come up flagged. And why he had sounded so familiar.

He put down his fork and paged his assistant.

"Have number three-three-oh-seven-nine brought to me at once."

"As you wish, sire."

\---

"Leave us," he instructed his assistant. He looked over the man in front of him. Dark hair and tattoos, but a little bit older than most who applied to become a Gear. He appeared to have sustained a decent gash across his cheek from the initiation ceremony, but he had a defiant look on his face that Charles appreciated. A Gear had to be obedient, after all, and he enjoyed the challenge of breaking them.

"Number three-three-zero-seven-nine, Donny Canfield. Do you know why I had you brought before me?" Charles asked coolly.

"I'm guessing it wasn't to get a better look at my pretty face."

Charles raised an eyebrow, but didn't react to the sarcasm.

"There were some, ah, issues with your background check."

The man smirked. "I didn't think having a record of drug offenses would be a problem in the death metal business."

"It's not about your record." Frankly, having a criminal record was common for Gears. Charles almost prefered it. Having done time hardened them, gave them a better chance of survival- though the probability still wasn't very high. "It's about your personal history with one of the members of Dethklok."

The man visibly straightened up a bit, looking defensive, but he said nothing. Charles let the silence draw out for a moment longer than was comfortable.

"I typically don't allow those with personal connections to a band member to be employed here at Mordhaus." Which was true enough- the situation had never arisen prior to this. 

"Make an exception, then," Donny demanded of him. 

"Do you, ah, understand the risks of the position?" It would be hard not to after he'd already sustained the trials of the first day. "It isn't as if you can just, ah, pal around with any of the band members while you're in their service."

The man crossed his arms. "I'm not doing this for fun. I know the risks. I killed a man today. I know it could have just as easily been me."

Charles took a sip of his brandy. "Why exactly are you doing this, then?"

"I want to protect him," Donny admitted, and Charles could tell from the way his face changed that he was being sincere. "Look, I'm fucking going nowhere fast, you know? I've been in prison more than once- I can't get a decent job anywhere. I looked out for that kid since he was seventeen. All I care about is that he's safe."

"You realise that Pickles is, ah, no longer a child, and that he and his bandmates are protected every second of the day by some of the best-trained men in the world." Particularly by Charles himself. 

"I'd rather keep an eye on him myself. Kid can be damn stupid sometimes."

Charles considered it. That much was certainly true.

"You have Pickles' best interests in mind. I like that. I'll let you proceed with your trials. If you survive until the end of the training period, I will take you as my personal assistant." Charles' assistants enjoyed somewhat better living conditions than the rest of the Gears. Even though his death was iminent regardless, this was a person who was important to one of his boys. 

"Thank you," Donny sighed, appearing genuinely relieved. 

"However," Charles continued, "there are stipulations. You understand that all of my assistants up to this point have died rather, ah, brutal deaths. Your life will be in constant danger."

"I don't care, I already told you."

"Your identity will be legally erased. You will become nothing more than a number- and you will be treated as such."

"That's fine."

Charles raised an eyebrow, wondering if this man had some sort of a death wish. Not that it mattered to him, but he didn't expect a man who seemed so defiant to submit so easily to his rules.

"Most importantly, I cannot allow you to reveal yourself to Pickles. I can't have the boys getting attached to those who have, ah, already sealed their fates, so to speak. It's my job to make sure they don't experience any pain. That includes emotional pain."

The man narrowed his eyes slightly, but set his face firm. "Fine. I don't care. As long as I can keep an eye on him, even if I have to do it from afar, it's fine."

"Very well. My assistant, seven-five-one, will escort you back to your duties." He pushed a button to release the door lock. "If I see you again, you will be hooded and branded. You're dismissed." 

"Fine." Donny turned to leave.

"Three-three-zero-seven-nine," Charles said, his tone cold, "That isn't an appropriate response from a Gear."

Donny stiffened, and Charles savoured the internal struggle with pride that the man was suffering.

"Yes, _my lord,_ " he ground out, and walked straight out the door.

Charles allowed himself a small smile as he took another sip of brandy.

\---

Four weeks to the day after his private meeting with three-three-zero-seven-nine, Charles was faced with the task of disposing of seven-five-one. His new assistant needed a place to sleep, after all. Seven-five-one's living quarters seemed adequate.

\---

Pickles was brushing his teeth when the knock on his door came. He was expecting it, since Charles had told him he was sending his assistant with the drugs he had asked for.

"Master Ofdensen instructed me to deliver this to you. ...Sire," the Gear said when Pickles opened the door. He was holding out two small bags, exactly what Pickles had asked for. Something was off, though. His voice was familiar, something about his demeanor...

"Thanks, dude." Pickles took the bags from him, unable to place why he was feeling so off about this. 

"You should be careful with that stuff," the Gear told him. "Pretty fucking strong."

Pickles narrowed his eyes. No, there was definitely something weird going on. Gears weren't paid to have opinions on his lifestyle.

"Lemme see your security clearance," Pickles demanded, suspicious. He complied, though, withdrawing the badge and handing it to Pickles, and it checked out just fine, it was just...

He had a sinking feeling in his stomach, because he already knew, but...

It was against the rules, entirely against the rules and he knew Ofdensen would flip his shit if he saw this on the security footage, but he reached out and grabbed the hood from the Gear's head, revealing his face. His scarred but fucking familiar face. No fucking way. This couldn't be happening. No!

"Donny, what the _hell are you doing here?!_ "

"I'm Ofdensen's assistant, what does it look like?" Donny threw back.

"Is this a fucking _joke_ , dude?" Pickles yelled, feeling a little hysterical. "You're a mother fucking _Gear_ now?!"

"Relax, kid," Donny said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "This is the best thing I could be doing."

"What are you _talking about?_ Don't you get it- you're gonna fucking die!" Pickles scrubbed at his face with his hands, willing this all to go away, wanting this to all be untrue. No fucking way. This was impossible, right? Why would Ofdensen let this happen? 

"Dude, it's fine. I'd rather risk my life watching out for your stupid ass than anything else I could be doing with it."

Pickles took a deep breath. This had to be a dream or something. Yeah, that's all, no big deal. It was a dream.

Fuck.

"I'm not even allowed to talk to you- do you understand that? Like, I'm not allowed to know who the fuck you are at all. You're fine with that? With being out of my life forever? 'Cause dude, I'm not!" 

Sure, he and Donny didn't hang out as much anymore like they used to, but it was just hard with the band and all... Donny worked regular jack-off jobs sometimes, so he was kind of stuck in one place, even though Pickles tried to send him money all the time. He wouldn't take it, too much pride or some shit. But it was because of Donny that Pickles was even in the position he was in.

Everything he had was all thanks to Donny, and Donny was just throwing his fucking life away for no fucking reason!

"This is what I want to do, Pickles," Donny said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "Just trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Donny was way too calm about all of this and Pickles couldn't take it. He grabbed the hood that he had dropped on the floor and threw it back at Donny.

"Get out. Get outta here. I gotta pretend I don't fuckin' know who you are. Go!"

Pickles pushed him out of his room and slammed the door after him, left alone and seething, drugs forgotten.

\---

Pickles tried to barge into Ofdensen' office, but the door was locked, so he started pounding on it as hard as humanly possible. When he heard the lock click, he shoved it open without even waiting for Ofdensen to invite him in. Screw invitations, this was way more important than that crap!

"Pickles, I'm extremely busy right now. Can-" Ofdensen tried to blow him off as he barged in.

" _No_ , this _can't_ wait 'til later, dude! I gotta fuckin' talk to you. Now!"

Pickles strode straight in and slammed both palms down onto Ofdensen's desk, furious. 

"Very well," Ofdensen sighed. "Randy, I'm afraid I'm going to have to call you back," he said, and pushed a button on his phone to end a call. "What can I do for you, Pickles?"

"Don't fuck around with me, Ofdensen. I know about your fuckin' assistant. What the fuck were you thinkin', dude? Huh?"

Ofdensen's face didn't even change, not in the slightest. "You're talking about number three-three-oh-seven-nine, correct?"

Pickles pounded his fist on the desk. "That is my _best friend_ you are talking about! Why the hell did you let him... _Why the fuck is he your assistant_?!"

"Three-three-oh-seven-nine was the, ah, most worthy candidate for the position, Pickles. You shouldn't even know what a gear looks like beneath his or her hood. How do you know this particular Gear is your, ah, friend?"

Pickles grabbed the lamp on Ofdensen's desk and threw it as hard as he could against the wall.

"Don't fuck with me! You... _knew_... You! You hire these guys! You knew who he was! Don't play dumb with me right now."

Ofdensen pinched the bridge of his nose. "Who he may or may not have been previously no longer matters, Pickles. Regardless, he is now a Gear. He has been branded."

"I don't give a shit, you gotta fire him or somethin', dude! You can't just... dude, he's gonna _die_ if he stays here. Send him away from here!" 

"Once branded, a Gear serves for life, Pickles," Ofdensen told him. "You know that."

"Make an exception or somethin'!" Pickles yelled, nearly hysterical.

"I'm afraid it's impossible, Pickles. A lot goes into creating a Gear. You don't need to know, ah, everything that goes into it, but it would be impossible for a Gear to return to life as a civillian," Ofdensen explained, all patience. "Legally and otherwise."

Pickles just felt so fucking helpless. Donny was in this place and he was going to fucking die here, and Pickles was going to be the reason he fucking died.

Fuck.

\---

Charles didn't act immediately, but he was more than aware that action was required of him. It just wouldn't do for one of the boys to have a personal connection with one of their employees, for a whole host of reasons. It would be impossible to carry on if Pickles knew who was beneath the hood each time Charles appeared before them with his assistant. 

Three-three-zero-seven-nine remained an adequate assistant and made no mention of having had his former identity revealed to Pickles, but Charles had sought out the encounter on the security footage and he was quite disappointed in his assistant. It was Pickles who had unveiled him, certainly, but it was three-three-zero-seven-nine who had broken character. A Gear had to know his place, regardless of who they used to be.

\---

Charles straightened his tie before stepping into the living room where the boys were watching a movie and having some snacks.

"Pickles, may I speak with you for a moment?"

"Dude, we're just gettin' to the good part," Pickles protested. "Can you guys pause it or somethin'?"

"No," said Nathan right away.

"Nopes," chimed in Toki as well. 

"Oh, that's too bad. Sorry, chief, looks like it's gonna have to wait," Pickles said with a shrug.

"It's, ah, rather important," Charles said. "I'd like to get it out of the way as soon as possible."

"Dude, just say it here, who cares? Stop interrupting our movie, just spit it out."

"I think it would be best to tell you in private."

" _Fiiiine_ , god," Pickles sighed, getting up, acting extremely put out. He downed the rest of his drink, set down his glass, and followed Charles into the corridor.

"Okay, so what's so important?"

"Pickles, I wanted to, ah, let you know that I'm going to have to select a new assistant," Charles said, hesitant.

"You sent Donny away?" Pickles asked. Charles said nothing, watching the exact moment that realisation set in and his face crumbled. 

"Pickles, I'm sorry," he said comfortingly, reaching out to put his hand on Pickles' shoulder. Pickles shrugged away from his touch.

"How did it happen?" Pickles demanded.

"Are you sure it's, ah, in your best interest to ask that?" 

"Fuckin' tell me!"

"Fine. I sent him to deliver a message to the head of our armed security team. In the area around his post, however, the footing is poor, and he, ah, slipped. It was... a rather long way down." 

The hand pushing on his back hadn't helped, Charles was sure, but Pickles didn't need to know everything that went into his job.

After all, he wouldn't be doing his job properly if he didn't make every effort to minimize his boys' pain.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr user [skelethal-boy](http://skelethal-boy.tumblr.com) drew a great pic of Donny rocking his brand- [check it out!](http://25.media.tumblr.com/051501151600221531387951e673ff9e/tumblr_myv3u2FKNA1rdmbrto1_500.png)


End file.
